WITH OR WITHOUT YOU 8

“I have a department meeting tomorrow and those” – pointing at the papers by the computer– “need to be graded by then. But let me check my calendar, I’m sure I would be able to find an opening for you sometimes this century.” I look at the pages pretending to be reading… Howard keeps on talking but he’s voice is becoming a background noise. I start turning frantically the pages back and forth, back and forth and I realize there’s something missing. Fuck!
I mumble an excuse, grab my handbag and get into the car. Before I close the door behind me I can hear him screaming “I thought you said you had to work!” Pharmacy, need a pharmacy and a reliable pregnancy test. How could I miss something so important? Fuck!
…….

We’re watching TV, Howard is sitting on the sofa, while I’m lying on it, my feet on his lap. For the first time in my life I’ve run out of words.
“You’re so quiet tonight, moody and quiet, did I do something wrong?”
‘Brilliant, I could blame it on him!’ sounds like a plan to me. I pretend to be reading my magazine and with a very casual tone I break the news “we’re pregnant”.
The expression on his face doesn’t change, I know he doesn’t listen to me at least 80% of the time, but I did my homework and told him, I’m good.
Than some of his bran cells must have just analyzed the new information and he looks at me. “Baby? Me and you?” … silence … “the night after my mom’s birthday party?”
“Yes. Arghhhh … I mean ….. Damn it! I am not even sure I want to be a mother. I guess we should discuss what’s best for us. Career wise I don’t honestly think it’s the best time for me to have a child. I have so much on my plate and I worked so hard to get we’re I am now. And you are going on tour, which means I will be stuck here like a poor whale stranded on the British shores. All by myself. Bored to death. And fat. And bored some more. On the other side he or she could be the one who invents a cure for cancer, or maybe I just don’t feel like getting rid of it” - seems like my ability to speak is back with vengeance - “maybe I could just have it. We don’t need to live under the same roof and I don’t need you to be involved into its life if don’t want to”
“Shut the fuck up!’ and takes the magazine off my hands. “And look at me when I talk to you, so I know you understand what I am saying”. I do and I can tell he’s pissed now.
“What kind of a man do you think I am? We’re in this together and don’t you tell me you hadn’t even the slightest suspect you might be pregnant”.
“Nope, why would I?”
“Oh Geez! What are you 12? Even our lovely and overly-concerned-with-noise neighbors thought we made a baby that night”.
It’s official, I’m retarded. Here’s my man, my soul mate, no matter how I fight this thing we are meant to be together. Isn’t that funny the way we make plans for the future or imagine our partner for life to be? Truth is there is a fat chance to end up falling in love with someone so different from what we pictured. Polonius was right ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.’
Focus back on him now.
“I’m sorry, I’m so stupid. Don’t be mad at me”.
“It’s ok; I’m not interested in your mind”.
“Yes you are”.
“No, truly I’m not. Fancy a quick one right here on the sofa?” he smiles and crawls over me “We’re having a babyyyyyyyyyyy!”
....

I’m walking up and down the living room, 42 steps from the telly to the kitchen door. 46 steps from the kitchen door to the stairs. I used to have a life. I’s raining again. From all directions. And it’s cold too. No chance I’m leaving the house. Not that I’m doing much lately anyway. I go back and forth from the house to the university like I’m a tennis ball during the Wimbledon tournament final. When I’m done with academic work I just drag myself to the bed and crush. I have the stamina of a plastic plant. I’m just glad the fridge is stuffed. What was I thinking while grocery shopping? Getting ready for a nuclear attack therefore storing up provisions for the next 15 years? I have developed a keen yet pathological interest for bizarre combination of food. Blaming it on the baby though. I open the fridge door. A quick scan of its content follows. Better start eating all perishable goods.
My mobile rings. It’s Howard, again.
“Hi honey, so glad you called. It has been such a long time. What have you been up to over the pasts 4 minutes?”
“Miss you”
“Whatever”.
“Really”
“Sure thing. You’re in a super-exclusive hotel in Glasgow, screaming ladies everywhere and you are thinking about me?”
“Can’t stop thinking about you, and the baby, and you some more”
“So sweet”
“Oops! My sarcasm alarm just went off. Raining again?”
“Yes”.
“Well, do you think I can cheer you up with an obscene phone call?”
“Wanna shock me? I’m out of your league babe”
“Let’s hear it”.
“I’m eating cold fried chicken”
“I’m waiting”
“and dipping it in Belgian chocolate ice cream”
“Oh my God, no offence but you’re disgusting!”
“Not taken. I’m sinking in the Hagen-Das Sea, wish you could come to my rescue.”
The bell rings, “someone’s at the door. Talk to you later”
“Love ya”
I open the door and there he is, dripping wet, holding a bunch of tulips what is left of his curls covering his face, and a big smile on his face.
I jump into his arms, or at least I try. He turns his face towards the neighbors’ house and screams “SURPRISE!”
They’ll be happy, no doubt.

……

Howard is home for a few hours. The tour is such a success they had to add more dates. Can’t travel to see them though. I am teaching 2 extra classes this term so I don’t feel guilty having Tricia covering for me when I’m on maternity leave. I also have a conference I am dying to go to but it’s in Boston and I don’t know if I can make it. Henry leaves and average of 3 messages a day on my voice mail: “Boston or Bust! Let’s GO!” He has already bought our plane tickets – non refundable -and reserved hotel rooms. He’s really pushing me and I am glad, he seems to be the one keeping pre-pregnancy-me alive. Someone should explain clear and in capital letter what happens to a woman’s body and mind during pregnancy. I wasn’t expecting it. Thought I could keep things under control. Obviously I can’t. I wish I could be one of those posh Chelsea moms, taking yoga classes and shopping for babies’ stuff. There is too much on my plate now. Take That. I will have to wait until they perform in London - unless I decide to go to Boston. London concerts and Conference, same days, jet-lag included. Isn’t it ironic? Life sometimes is so pathetic it’s not even funny. If I decide to catch that plane I need to get ready for a major fight with Howard – WW2 style I mean - and I don’t know if I’m fit for it. Take the thought, lock it into a safe box, place it under the bed and forget about it for the moment.

….

“We need to come up with a good name”, he’s lying on the bed. Books spread all over it, “How to choose the perfect name for your Baby”, “Biblical names” “Baby names and football” - how he decided to spend money and that one goes beyond my understanding but I dare say nothing. It seems I am too hormonal these days to carry out a normal, grown up conversation. I spend my time either throwing up or complaining. I am told I am also giving the word ‘unreasonable’ a whole new range of meanings. Jason described it as a ‘phenomenal capacity for moaning’.
Howard is adding new names to the list he’s writing. I think we are down to 75 different options. He wants to do this right.
“We could call him Duck. Goes perfect with Donald”.
He throws a pillow at me, “Making fun of my work, aren’t you? Well, I got news for you; I won’t let you undermine my efforts!”
“Undermine? Can you even spell it?” I sort of duck again so to avoid a second pillow aiming at me. “I’m serious; if Gwyneth can name her daughter Apple I can name my baby boy Duck. Think of it, you could even create your own duo and tour the whole word, I can already see the banner in my head, Howie and Duckie. We just need to work on the initials and come up with am appealing logo”.
“I know you can’t see it but I’m laughing in the inside. Deep down, truly deep down.”
“We need to find a name both my people and your people can pronounce with no trouble at all.” I stress the word ‘people’ having in mind our trip to Italy. Howard seems to be Italian-proof. There is no way is going to pick up the language anytime this century and my parents speak a very basic English. It was a heck of a holiday, if it wasn’t for ‘Pictionary’ I would have spent all my time translating back and forth. “Which crosses out names containing R, T, TH, D and W” I point out.
“Oh noooooooo, I’ve always dreamt to call my son Rotuthadow and now you’re telling me we won’t even consider it because of a language barrier?
“Rotuwhat? Honey I fear you might be a bit beyond therapy. Besides, you already know what we will name him.”
“I do?”
I know he can see it coming.
“Jason”
“Veto”
“Elucidate”
“I don’t want to name my boy after the man you fancy”
“I DO NOT fancy him”
“Yes you do, all women do.” He makes a very girly voice “So cute, and sweet, and caring, and smart, and those blue eyes, his frown…he’s just to die for! He’s waiting for the right woman to relieve his pain and head with him towards the sunset riding a beautiful white horse. I’m sooooo gonna so be that woman!” He switches back to his own tone but his lisp is taking over, it always does when he’s cornered “You have him on speed-dial and he’s the one going with you to conferences, museums and slow but visually stunning French movies”
“You refuse to come along”
“That’s not the point. Whenever he’s around you always manage to exclude the rest of us from you conversations. The two of you and your secret code”.
I laugh “it’s not a secret code, I believe it’s called adult conversation. Listen to me, Jason is my museum buddy but you are the love of my life. Isn’t the fat surrounding what used to be my body screaming it to the world?” – just need a final push – “Don’t you want to name our son after someone we both love, care for and trust?”
“Well, if you put it this way… he is my buddy, always there for me. We go so far back. Besides if it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t even have met.”
“If you say so” – yes I win, Italy 1 England 0. I can even picture fans cheering in the stadium.
“So Jason it is! Can we at least use Rotuthadow as his middle name?”
“Of course! We can talk about it” – in your dreams.